Cold
by somegirlwrites
Summary: Seymour recounts some of the times he's felt cold. For a poor orphan, it isn't too hard to come up with a few.


**so i'm back to writing! been on this one for a while, so I hope its enjoyed. just a warning, hence the title and genres this is about the sadder times in Seymour's life, but it isnt too bad. i hope.**

 **ANYWAY much love! Enjoy.**

Winters were the worst.

Spring wasn't unbearable. Though young Seymour rubbed at itchy eyes from pollen, this was the season the flowers grew right outside the torn chainlink fence of the Home's backyard. During the Summer, the sinks leaked and the wallpaper peeled up but the boys were allowed to play outside twice as long. Everyone was too sweaty and busy with whatever version of "ball" they picked up to bully any tiny kids in glasses, so Seymour didn't mind it. Also, the tutors took their break over the Summer and didn't bother making the drive downtown for lessons, so the fact they had no classes also made things lighter. Our young Seymour doesn't care much for the Autumn, though. Sure the leaves turn brown and fall everywhere, but that just meant more raking. And more raking meant more leaf piles, and more leaf piles meant more places for the bullies to toss him into and laugh at how much he struggled his way out. He didn't care for Autumn.

But Winter was the worst. Since the recent increase of orphans and decrease of funds, they were at a shortage of blankets for boys at the Home. Every Winter during playtime, some of the bigger boys tried starting a fire with a pile of rocks and two sticks, but it didn't work. One time, Seymour timidly stepped up and tried to tell them they had to use two sticks from the same species of tree. They didn't like being told that much.

It didn't matter, though. Seymour preferred to be inside. Though barely warmer than the frigid outdoors, he could watch them all get frostbite from the questionable safety of his bunkroom window. In an effort to offer the kids _something_ , the headmaster took scissors to all of the existing blankets and cut each one in half. Most boys kept the useless rags as scarves or capes for the younger ones— but Seymour made do with his. He was small and quite scrawny— the accommodation fit him well.

However, Winters were still Hell on Earth. The cold bit at his nose and through the worn soles of his sneakers, which can cause some minor problems among many of the boys. Grayson pulled him aside on a Tuesday.

"Hey, Seymour," he began in a whisper. "'Member Darryl?"

"Red hair, funny freckles? Yea', I 'member. Didn't he just get adopted?"

"No, Nerd. Got frostbite on all 'is toes. Had to cut 'em off. Rumor is— he died in surgery." Grayson laughed manically.

"Gee," Seymour said, adjusting his oversized glasses and lifting his eyes to the older boy. "You can't die from frostbite, can ya?"

"You only die if you're all scrawny and sick-lookin like he was— like you are. Not 'nough meat on your bones to last through the winter, lookin' age 5 though you really 7?" He sneered. "wonder who's next, Krelborn!"

Seymour shuddered and climbed up to his bunk. You can't die from frostbite, right?

He went to bed shivering, merely wishing it weren't so cold.

•

Three years followed and Seymour found himself at his first, official job. Only, he wasn't getting paid in money— he was getting paid in a place to sleep and food to eat.

He was taken out of the Home in the Winter by a man named Mr. Mushnik. Apparently, he needed someone to work full time and sweep up around the flower shop he owned. It was a long walk for Seymour— without a coat or good shoes. The man stopped him and turned his shoulder so they faced each other.

"You forget your coat, Boy?"

"No, Sir. Don't have one, Sir."

Gravis pinched the bridge of his nose and untied his scarf, thrusting it in the child's direction. "Put it on. You can't work if you're gettin' sick."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you."

That night, Seymour stared at his glasses with blurry vision. They sat folded on the floor beside him, tucked under the counter. Though it wasn't much of an improvement, the child made do with the blanket Mushnik gave him and a stomach full of day-old meatloaf. He was shivering, but it was a feeling he was all too used to.

Years later, he'll upgrade to a bed in the basement, but those things are underground and twice as cold in the winter.

•

She trailed in behind Mr. Mushnik one night after closing.

Seymour nearly fell out of his chair when the door opened. "See you forgot to lock up, Schmuck." His boss commented plainly. Seymour cringed.

"Sorry Mr. Mushnik. I was going to, I promi—" A timid girl stepped out from behind him. She was glancing around, interested.

"You know anything about flowers?"

The girl shook her head earnestly.

"Your training starts tomorrow. And don't think I'm doing you no favors, you stay in your place."

The girl nodded as if she'd heard that before, then turned to Seymour. A sweet smile formed.

"Hiya. I'm Audrey."

"S—.. I you.. Um... M-... Hi."

Mushnik sent him a glare. "Krelborn, Clean this place up and lock the door before you go to bed. I really don't have the money to pay another goddamn kid." He pinched the bridge of his nose before shutting the door harshly.

"Well," began Audrey. "He seems nicer than most'a my bosses."

On the basis of Audrey, cold wasn't in the top 500 adjectives he would use to describe her. The only correlation would be the chills she gave him. She was gentle— perfect in every way. Her touch, her voice, her soft kisses that sent shivers up his spine and through his stomach. Sometimes, Seymour would be convinced he was dreaming when she was with him. One night in mid November, a few days after they began seeing each other, she stayed at the shop a bit later to keep an eye on Seymour while he worked. The bell jingled as she stepped back inside, two empty water buckets in hand.

"Seymour, maybe you oughta get to bed. I'll close up for ya."

He lifted his eyes from the typewriter to see her drying her hands on the sides of her dress. She turned over her shoulder to look at him now, catching—and not believing— the smile he tried to assure her with. Heels clicked against the linoleum as she made her way over to him and let her hands rest on his shoulders. They were chilly from the air outside. Seymour let himself relax— his head falling to lean against her midriff. From meetings about this and that with executives to staying up late trying to come up with a lecture for whatever tour he was going on, his brain could hardly slow down during the day. As Audrey's arms slid down his chest and as she bent down into a position to hug him properly from behind, his worries slipped away for just a moment. His lips curved into a smile and the all too familiar chills returned when he felt her lips against his cheek and heard her soft voice coo in a near whisper—

"I'm so proud of you, Seymour."

•

He felt cold rushes of air against his skin as it slipped up the open sleeves of the dark blue suit he had bought. He'd never owned nice clothes before, so this was new. And interesting. He tried to think if Audrey would like it— if she'd want to frame a photo of him in this suit. She would, he looked his best. Right? Yeah. The paper bag he held from the Deli swung in his hand as he walked. The sooner he got back, the sooner he was going to be married.

Married. What a surprise, for someone like Seymour.

He could hardly wait to hold her in his arms, dress delicately draping across her body. He tried to picture what it would look like.

And then he stopped walking. Either he was hallucinating, or white lace was hanging out of Twoey's mouth.

Wedding dress lace.

Oh no.

In a panicked realization of events, Seymour felt his body weaken and blood run cold. Audrey lived across the street, the plant was right there— God, she was in the thing's mouth!

"Get off of her!" He yelled. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he jumped and grabbed, finally finding a hold of her legs. Seymour managed to prop his arm between the jaws of the plant and get it open.

She was just lying there. He cursed himself at the idea she was gone. His mind raced, his eyes were blurry, his adrenaline still on high.

Audrey found her strength again and pushed up to lean against Seymour's chest. Quickly, he carried her our of the shop and collapsed on the cold pavement.

"Audrey?! Are you alright!"

"Yes," she assured him with that precious smile, before reaching out and collapsing against his chest. "N-No.."

"Audrey please don't die—" Please didn't work. He watched her lips as they slowly turned blue, still smiling and soft as always.

"Oh, Seymour.." she whispered, touching his cheek. "Y'know... the plant said the strangest thing just now.."

•

It happened so fast that he wasn't sure when it happened. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he combed his fingers through her platinum hair.

She used her final moments on Earth to look at him. Audrey reached up weakly, arm quivering, touched his cheek, and choked out. "Never forget how much I adore you."

The poison from the plant seeped through her veins and shut her body down completely, but Seymour wasn't thinking straight enough to stop it. "I love you, I love you Audrey." He repeated to her and then to nobody— as her final breath twisted in wisps of hot air against the frigid. Slowly, her body heat decreased as she lay idle on his lap. Seymour didn't find the strength to stand and fulfill her final wish until it was all gone— her body cold in his arms.


End file.
